


Drip Drop

by duckhyuck



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Comfort, M/M, Making Out, Rain, Swearing, Tears, feeling like a failure, illustration student doyoung
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 12:51:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12388452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckhyuck/pseuds/duckhyuck
Summary: "I'm a failure, my life's a joke, my prof said so.""No offence but I'm the only bitch who's allowed to have an opinion on you and I say otherwise."





	Drip Drop

**Author's Note:**

> another shameful piece to my rainy series because right now this is all I can manage to write! I hope you guys enjoy!!
> 
> I used the f word a lot cause I say fuck a lot!
> 
> Inspired by none other than... you guessed it! Drip Drop by Taemin!

“Fuck , fuck, fuck...” Doyoung mutters. He wills away the tears begging to burst out of his sockets.  _Not now, not here._

He’s drenched from head to toe in rain water, standing stiffly at this roofless bus stop. His painting is half hidden under his sweater, half exposed to the shitty ass elements. At this point the damage won’t affect his heart as much as the words he’s already been told today. His crushed dreams weigh heavier than the soaked articles draped over him.

He rummages his jean pocket for his phone. Drops of rain cover his screen and his thumb struggles to act as a windshield wiper for it. He pulls the bus schedule up and lo and behold today is certainly a gift from god!

 

**_~Due to unforeseen rain and flooding, Bus #21 will be inactive as well as Bus #35. We apologize for the inconvenience. ~_ **

 

Doyoung stares at his phone for just a little longer. Like somehow, magically, this is all a joke like his life.

It’s not!

Doyoung breaks into a sob. He’s all alone, which is fantastically pathetic because at least he can let the tears spill over. He shakily gets to his contact screen and taps on the face of the first person he always thinks of. He waits out three dials before there’s a click and pick up.

“Doyoung?”

Doyoung has to bite his knuckle to choke back a whimper. “Yuta—” he breaks again and cries into the phone.

“Holy shit, are you crying? Doyoung? What’s wrong?”

He’s trying to get himself together to answer and he does so with a hefty slap to his own cheek. “I’m at the bus—bus stop, bus cancelled—

“—route 21 right, the stop by your uni?”

“Yeah,” Doyoung says weakly.

“On my way.”

Doyoung hears him hang up then he wipes his snot on his wet sleeve.

 

Yuta lives a fifteen minute drive from the campus Doyoung attends. He lives in the core of downtown in a shoddy apartment he rents for an undisclosed amount. The landlady “ _treats him right”_ as Yuta says. He arrives in no time in a beat up 2007 Mercury Montego. 

Doyoung pulls his painting out from under his sweater and opens the back door, throwing it in without grace. He gets himself into the passenger seat right after. For a solid moment the two boys sit in the silence that follows the echoing slam of the car door. Both of their eyes are forward watching as the rain pounds the windshield.

“Do—

“—I left my keys in my locker.” Doyoung smacks a hand over his face. He’s ready to fucking burst once again!

“ _Woah woah_ there, no crying buddy, it’s okay! It’s okay!” Yuta says, trying his best to sooth Doyoung with a hand rubbing against his thigh. “We’ll go back to mine. You can use my shower, you’ve still got spare clothes in my dresser, it’s all good.”

“Okay...okay.” Doyoung takes deep breaths.

 

Doyoung is definitely no stranger to Yuta’s apartment so it doesn’t make sense as to why he’s acting like one. Emotionally and physically drained, he stands on the door mat, dripping drops of water every where. Yuta is busy prying off his own shoes but once he’s done he comes straight to Doyoung’s aid.

“We can talk later, let’s get you warmed up.” His voice is soft; it raises Doyoung’s temperature effortlessly.

The taller boy’s hand is taken and he’s walked down the familiar hallway to the bathroom that Yuta shoves him into gently.

“You know how the handles work, I’ll get you some dry stuff to put on after.”

Doyoung nods and Yuta shuts the door leaving him alone once again. Well not really alone but alone with his thoughts. Doyoung hates his thoughts. They’ve always been his number one friend and enemy from birth because ya know... no one knows you like your own self.

He strips down and leaves his wet clothes in a neat little pile to keep from dousing every inch of Yuta's flat in his misery. He’ll ask Yuta for a plastic bag after.

The warm spray of the shower hits him and so does the emotional constipation. He feels his eyes dry up and that odd hazy mental block settles in. He is the epitome of dead inside (but clean on the outside!)

When he steps out a whole outfit awaits him. They’re all leftovers from the past, sporadic sleepovers. Boxers, sweats and a big ass shirt he’s pretty sure is actually his roommate Youngho’s.  He didn’t even hear Yuta come in to place this all down. _Whatever._ He tosses himself into his new look after towel drying himself. He rushes the towel over his hair last. No finesse, or grace, just a semi damp matted mess of black hair.

“Fucking nice.” He says to his mirror reflection.

He wanders out to the living room; Yuta has two floor pillows set up at the coffee table and two mugs of coffee. The yellow glow from the small lamp in the corner of the room gives a nice warm wash to the room. The trickling sky picks up for its third build up of the day.

Doyoung’s fucked up painting also makes reappearance. It’s propped against the wall and honestly isn’t as wrecked as it was thought to be. Only areas where oil paint hadn’t reached a full state of dryness are smudgy. It’s solely the tree line area too, it’s completely fixable.

But Doyoung won’t fix it. He isn’t allowed. It is, as his prof said, _“a piece that would give historical art curators more faith in Banksy then the next generation of fine artists.”_

He’s obviously staring at it like it’s his ex because Yuta is sitting shaking his head at him.

“Sit Doyoung.”

_Tsk!_

“Oh just do it!”

Doyoung flops down onto the cushion and his attention is easily swept away again. This time it’s the little bubbles accumulating on the frothy top layer of his coffee. Yuta doesn’t give him the comfort of ignorance for long because he’s snapping his fingers under Doyoung’s nose.

“Earth to Doyoung, h-e-l-l-o!”

Doyoung’s face scrunches in annoyance.

“I don’t wanna play games,” Yuta begins, “I want you to talk to me.” He closes his eyes and sighs, opening them once again. “I can see it, in your posture, the paleness of your face, you’re trying to build a fort up around yourself. That’s not going to help you. Doyoung I know I’m a fucking asshole. I’m like low-grade friendship material but I know how to listen and I might not say it enough but I do care about you.”

There’s a minor pause as Doyoung takes that all in. Yuta then continues.

“I just want you to tell me what’s wrong. I just want to be a better friend.” Yuta looks hurt and it’s chipping away at the dumbass kindergarten blocks Doyoung has been glue-gunning together around himself.

The thing is, Yuta is a good friend, the best, for Doyoung that is. Yeah he’s not you’re generic buddy buddy guy and he can be an absolute prick at the best and worst of times but he’s level headed and loyal as fuck. As for someone like Doyoung who sometimes gets overwhelmed and frantic, he needs the likes of Yuta dunking his head in cold water every once in a while.

Their unconventional ways of showing affection and care are the exact links they need to fulfill the area of cherishment in each other’s hearts.

Youngho put it best once, when he was high off his ass and was as blunt as the literal one in his mouth, _"Yuta likes to fix people with cheap smiles and a pat on the ass to feed his image and Doyoung's semi narcissistic so shit like that is all he needs to get him going again. That's why they fucking work."_

Doyoung would like to reconsider that to be an insult but it's also the truth.

A clap of thunder and a flash of lighting.

The quick flicker skirts Yuta’s eyes and something beyond the earthly world shifts. An inner gravity changes. Doyoung crumbles.

“I’m a failure.” His words come out muffled into is palms. Salty tears tease his lips and a shake runs through his shoulders. “I’m a failure, a failure, such a loser, a complete failure.” He inhales deeply and sobs again. "My painting is a piece of garbage, he tore me to shred in front of my peers, told me I was no good, I'll never make it."

Doyoung has a complete breakdown.

Yuta watches.

That’s completely okay because Doyoung needs the moment. They didn’t learn nothing in the eight years of their friendship. Yuta will just be ready for the after affects, when Doyoung will need him most. He’ll counter the negative that spills from his mouth; reassure him that he’s everything and more. These post incident moments have always been something a little more intimate.

Doyoung’s voice dies off. His brain has drawn a clean slate. There’s relief on his body, only the ache in his chest remains from a stomped upon pride.

Yuta crawls over to Doyoung’s side of the table and pulls his head into his chest.

"I'm a failure, my life's a joke, my prof said so." Doyoung whispers into Yuta’s shirt. His breath ghosts over the other’s collarbone.

Yuta shivers.

"No offence but I'm the only bitch who's allowed to have an opinion on you and I say otherwise."

Doyoung lets out a puff of laughter. He can tell Yuta is smiling as well.

“I’m going to look like absolute shit tomorrow. My prof is gonna think even less of me.”

Yuta _tuts_ at the sudden slumping of Doyoung’s shoulders. “I know it means nothing right now but it does help not to think this way. You know best of all the way to get back at him is to go in and work twice as hard. If you let him get to you it shows you aren’t willing to pursue improvement. It’s like a really shitty test but I know you can pass.”

Doyoung hums. He doesn't know why, maybe it's because his world has been thrown off axis but his heart tells him it's finally time. That if today is the day to lose it all then so be it. So he moves his heavy tongue along and lets the left over feelings bubble up.

"Yuta, if art is taken away from me, such an important constant in my life, will I lose all my other passions. I'm scared I'm gonna lose everything.

"You won't lose me."

  _Oh...that's new_ Doyoung thinks. Doyoung really fucking hates how smooth Yuta could be but his heart can't lie, you can't stop it's incessant thumping. 

Yuta guides Doyoung’s face up and waits for Doyoung to clue in. The taller does and closes his eyes. Their breath mingles and Yuta fists Doyoung’s shirt and dives in.

Impulse, a mutual character trait between the two of them. 

Soft and plush, they’ve both been lip care enthusiasts. It’s certainly paid off.

Doyoung sighs like he’s been waiting for this all his life, _he has._ He really really has. He's loved Yuta for so long and even though he was content with being a dumbass and suppressing his feelings this is so much better. It's so right. He thinks they've always been together mentally just not physically and whatever the thing was that snapped Yuta into action, Doyoung is thankful for it. 

He climbs into Yuta's lap, bum falling in between the other's crossed legs, his own bent at Yuta's sides. His hands thread through Yuta’s hair, tugging softly. He excites at the fact he can pull a quiet moan from the other boy and the kiss deepens at the part of lips.

The first brush of tongue jolts Doyoung, pleasant shivers run down his spine and his toes tingle. Yuta’s hand falls to his flat but very very endearing ass and gives a light squeeze. Doyoung drawls out a long shameless moan. He prays the neighbors can’t hear the illicit calls over the patter of rain outside.

The smaller boy bites down on Doyoung’s bottom lip.

Doyoung gasps, “Yuta...”

Another burl of thunder comes by.

“ _Mmm_?”

“Only you,” Doyoung speaks between wet kisses.

“Only me?” Yuta inquires, a little bit breathless.

Doyoung chuckles and pulls back slightly and lets their foreheads come together. They take the moment to catch their breath.

“Yeah...you’re the only one who can tolerate my anal personality, it’s always been you, and it _has_ to be you.”

Yuta grins and Doyoung opens his eyes to catch it, grinning right back at him. Verbal confirmation because they're both verbal people. They're simple too, so this is enough, this is satisfying and will turn a page for them.

“Fucking fine by me!” Yuta says happily.

Another flash of lightning. The wind picks up outside, and whistles against the window. 

Doyoung snorts and pushes away the hair from the other’s forehead before smashing their lips back together.

The taste of Yuta's velvety lips and the smell of rain clinging to his clothes paints a dirty picture in Doyoung's mind but on canvas he knows it's going to shine.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this :) thank you so much for reading, kudos and comments are always appreciated and mean a lot! There will probably be two more fics for this series...can you guess the pairings...a hint...we're moving onto dream.<3


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